


Taking You Home

by imaginationandheartbreak (alexgrey)



Series: Tumblr prompts [4]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, F/F, F/M, Teacher-Student Relationship, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexgrey/pseuds/imaginationandheartbreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt grabs his student… STUDENT!…  by the elbow and hustles her to a slightly quieter spot at the edge of the room, far from the speakers then releases her like she could burn him.  She could.  “I’m So SO sorry, Ms. Kingston.  This is not supposed to happen.  Ever.  I didn’t know. You have to believe me.  I’ve been drinking… shit… I would never…  I didn’t know… But why do you have your hair in a pony tail?” he finishes idiotically and accusingly, still slurring a bit but sobering relentlessly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking You Home

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: Could you write a mattex fic where Alex is matts student and they accidentally meet in a bar? Extra points if they make out before they realise who it is :) xxx
> 
> ok: AU with Matt 30, Alex 24. Teacher/student - so stop reading now if you hate that kind of thing — but totally age of consent.

Matt looked down into his beer and closed his eyes against the pulsing light.  The room throbbed, crowded, hot and full. He couldn’t tell if he was enjoying himself or not, really – one of those nights… he’d almost forgotten - but he let himself feel the pulse of the music climb his legs and his smile was genuine when his friend Kaz returned with shooters.  They were on fire.

“Flaming Fucks!” she declared with an already drunken enthusiasm. And Matt laughed and could barely stop laughing long enough to grip two of the stupid glasses on the tray.

“What?” 

“Retro drinks! They knew how to party!”

“Who did?”

“The 90s. Also the 80s, I think… There was something written on the board….”

“Let’s not pretend it’s the 80s. They were all addicted to cocaine.”

“Stop being all professor-ish on me…”

“Don’t be an asshole.”  Matt threw back the first glass.  “Also it’s **lecturer**. And I teach **theatre**.”

Kaz clinked her next glass heartily into Matt’s and they both downed a shot.

“Don’t be sore. I’m proud of you!”

Another clink. Third shot down. Matt almost felt like dancing.  Also maybe vomiting.

“And I miss you,” Kaz continued. “You never come out anymore. “

“Been too busy…” Matt slurred. “Besides – all our old uni places? Crawling with students.  Possibly MY students.  God, that makes me feel old.”

“And tempted?”

“No.”  He really wasn’t.  Well, sometimes he was… a hundred students?  Driven, smart, often beautiful, very occasionally hanging on his every word, rarely but potently coming to his office to discuss ideas?  Sometimes even their dreams. Seeing how someone’s gorgeous thoughts were just starting to form, shyly shown only to him, waiting for him to comment?  Talented girls with sinful diction and distracting curls? Well, yeah… bound to be one or two temptations. It was **statistics**.  Matt was smart enough to know it wasn’t real.  And he didn’t want to be professor creepy. Or lose his job.  Not tempted.

“You’re only 30, for God’s sake. Lighten up.  And we’re a million miles from a uni pub here, Matt, and the ridiculous cover tonight will keep out your crew.  Better chances of banging a West End star than a student here. Stop with that face.”

“What face?”

“Your ‘no one understands my new responsibilities’ face.”

“Shut up.”

“yerright…” Kaz slurred. “Dance floor… no excuses…”

*

By the time they reach the dance floor it feels like the crowd has multiplied exponentially. It’s so hot. Everything so close. Matt can’t tell if it’s the crowd or the drinks but it feels tropical; otherworldy.  It isn’t London – just one giant sweaty timeless gyrating mass of bodies from anywhere, anytime.  Kaz is ahead and already grinding rather embarrassingly against a small group on the periphery: hands up, for the most part, when those hands weren’t snaking their way down hips and across tits in mostly masturbatory choreography.

Matt plunges further into the crowd – he hates to be watched dancing by the barstool people. He really does dance with abandon, especially when drunk, and it’s not that he’s self-conscious, really, it’s just that he **knows** his dancing can come across as a bit ridiculous sometimes and he’d just rather not be the entertainment.  He wants to lose himself… and be anonymous deep in the crowd and out of the sitelines… and as soon as he stops his half walk/half dancing shuffle and properly begins to move his hips and windmill his arms above this head he is immediately spun around by a blond girl with saucer eyes and flamenco hands. Lovely.  And she looks like a banker not a hipster theatre student and thank God for that. They dance for the duration of the song and he brings his hands to her hips and is only mildly conscious of her taking his hands and shifting them over to another dancing girl’s hips, her back to him, and they move hypnotically, then, Matt and the new girl, as the music slows just a bit and the girl’s gorgeous, rhythmically twisting arse brushes against his crotch and now she’s bending slightly at the waist and god he has **missed** this – being out, dancing, picking up gorgeous girls in bars, blow jobs from strangers…  His sex life full of stops signs and she is his first green light in forever… Shit. Getting ahead of himself.  But something about this GIRL.

Emboldened by drink and possibility, pants tight, head light, he pulls her even closer into him and reaches a bold hand to her pony tail, rewarded with amazing, soft curls and he smiles so hard then, wondering what her face looks like but also past the point of caring, arching her forcefully to his body, then settling a hand on her stomach, taming her movement, pulling her back flat into his chest, now, heart pounding. He is suddenly considerable drunker than he was even a second ago. But when she shimmies into him, more than willing, even reaching her hands behind her, behind HIM now, to grab his ass and grind his erection more firmly against her – oh FUCK… bad girls… - he gets a second wind and risks a questioning, hopeful kiss to her neck.  Oh, how he wants her, any way she’ll have him… this second, all night, doesn’t matter, he just wants to…

“Matt!” he can hear Kaz’s voice like an alarm travelling through treacle. Across the floor Kaz waves at him manically as she moves toward him, giving him a two-thumbs-up sign and he groans inwardly hoping that he was the only one who saw it.  Still, he notes the Kaz seal of approval with drunken satisfaction.  She’s particular. But then Kaz is THERE – was she ninja fast or was he really that drunk? -  in front of him, kissing HIS dancing girl, both hands on the spell-binding stranger’s face and no, this isn’t happening… but it is … one of the stranger’s arms moves to Kaz’s waist while the other reaches behind to grip his own hip more possessively and the kiss the women are sharing deepens and they move erotically to the beat, half-time, music fast, lips slow and Matt doesn’t want to grind and be that guy, but he can’t help himself and god help him he IS that guy and GO AWAY KAZ you and your fucking shooters.

Wow… wait, No! ….  But now Kaz is twirling away into the crowd, laughing, again with the thumbs-up sign and an exaggerated  ‘well DONE’ mouthed into the air before she disappears once more.  It’s possible that he has never been so unsure. The girl is pressing against him again.  Or so turned on.

And then his mystery girl lets her head rest back against his chest and _moans_ in the direction of his cheek, loud enough to be heard in the soft transition between two songs and he is utterly lost for her…them… this and he really needs to fuck this beautiful dancing girl with the mesmerizing body soon… now…  and laughs out loud and cups her breast, feeling for her nipple through her sheer top with three hungry fingers  - it feels risky and perfect as fuck – there has never been more perfect foreplay, he thinks, as her nipple hardens under his hand promisingly and everything in him comes alive and he turns this bewitching, braless girl to face him and then she is kissing him, deeply, and he is kissing her with pent up EVERYTHING and it’s surprisingly soft, he thinks, and insanely, _insanely_ sexy.

Her mouth is hot; perfect. She doesn’t kiss like someone drunk, her tongue exploratory and expert, and he gives himself a small, internal shake willing himself to up his game, unsure why except this girl deserves better than sloppy drunk kisses and he is NOT comparing himself to Kaz, dammit, as he brings his hands to her perfect face and she cups his cock through his pants adding a gentle squeeze and hears her mutter a low, beautiful, familiar?, ‘oh, yes’ as she pulls away to stare into his face.  And then she’s perfectly still and he’s having trouble focusing and feels, as much as hears, an equally low, urgent ‘oh, fuck… holy hell… Mr. Smith.” And her hand is gone.

And then he SEES her.  SHIT. It’s wild curl girl – Kingston -  who sits in the third row and chews her pencils and talks with her whole body and does life modeling for the life drawing intro class – he should not know this – and hands in brilliant, too short assignments, sometimes illustrated, and who once came to his office hour and asked him if he thought she had what it took to be an actress and took his breath away.  Bloody hell. And he does NOT watch her play with her hair or listen for her laugh down the hallway or imagine her as Ophelia to his Hamlet. (Is she a lesbian, then?) Oh… fuck… this is bad.  Had part of him known? And holy FUCK she will never believe that he didn’t know it was her…  SHIT.

Matt grabs his student… _student_ …  by the elbow and hustles her to a slightly quieter spot at the edge of the room, far from the speakers then releases her like she could burn him.  She could.  “I’m So SO sorry, Ms. Kingston.  This is not supposed to happen.  Ever.  I didn’t know. You have to believe me.  I’ve been drinking… shit… I would never…  I didn’t know… But why do you have your hair in a pony tail?” he finishes idiotically and accusingly, still slurring a bit but sobering relentlessly.

Alex Kingston raises a perfect eyebrow.  “Clearly in disguise, Mr. Smith. You seem to like it.”

“Do not.” 

Again with the eyebrow.  And the most burning, charming, smile.   “Well, that’s disappointing, then,” she says, winking.  But she averts her eyes just a bit and he can tell she’s… scared? Embarrassed? Oh, no. This is one reason this kind of thing just can’t happen.   _Fix the other_. _And stop staring at her nipples._

“No, seriously.  Fuck. Obviously I do… I mean you’re _gorgeous … stunning…_ just. Stunning _…”_ Matt’s voice catches awkwardly in his throat _.  “_ And you dance like a snake charmer and it’s obvious that if things were different I would do _anything_ to keep doing… well… what we were doing… but that was before… _listen,_ I would never ever take advantage like that.  I can see if you can switch sections or something, if you’d like. I mean, I’d understand if you don’t want to come to my class anymore.  If you’re uncomfortable…”  Matt himself makes the perfect portrait of uncomfortable in that moment and Alex takes a small step toward him, then rocks back on her heels. She is so beautiful.  He takes in the sobering picture of her loosening pony tail, strawberry blond tendrils spilling across her cheeks,  red from nervousness or dancing, he’s not sure which, green-blue eyes, an almost see-through green peasant top, perfect breasts, insanely talented … he’s so lost in her he forgets they are still talking.

“You mean you don’t want me in your class anymore?” Her words are small and quiet and _shit_ he has utterly ruined things.

“oh, no…. no!…. that’s not it…” he risks running a still tipsy finger along her cheek while the sobering part of him yells ‘stop’. “The problem is that I DO want you in my class … and for you to come to my office… to still have the chance to laugh at the pictures you draw in the margins of your books…”  A slow smile creeps along Alex’s features. “… it’s a problem because I would think about this every time I saw you… you on that dancefloor, how soft you are, how you move, my hands…”

“Same…” she takes another step toward him and he takes a half-step back.

“Same?”

“Yessss…”  she looks up at him now, hungry and unmistakably triumphant and brings a hand to his face and her eyes to his eyes.

“Not the same…” he tries.  “I’m your teacher… I get to decide if you pass or fail.  I’m in charge of things that matter to you… that have consequences…  Not the same at ALL.   Ms. Kingston… I…”

“Alex..”

“Alex… I _want_ you. So much. Shit. And we can’t.” He’s looking down now but the words aren’t coming out with the right inflection – the emphasis on ‘want’ rather than ‘can’t’, almost stammering with desire and – bloody hell – his hand reaches out on the word ‘can’t’ to grab her by the waist and pull her to him.

“We can’t, she echoes. And I want you… Have done all term…” she glues her body to his.

“No…”

“Oh, of COURSE.” Alex whispers directly into his ear as the volume of the room increases. “ Half the class fancies you – the majority of the boys and all the girls with any taste. And you think I’m _stunning_.” She smiles and it is brilliant.

“I do,” Matt whispers.  “And dangerous.” And then with a trembling “Alex?” he brings his hand back to her breast and she places her hand on top of his encouragingly both of them gasping – the touch is new again, riskier, weightier.  They are both breathing heavily and Matt shuffles them right to the wall and pushes Alex against it and when they get there they kiss full of fire and disaster.  It feels like they’re sealing a promise and Matt actually breaks the kiss to say “promise,” not quite a question and not quite a vow and entirely without context except in his head, but Alex echoes right away “promise” like she knows.  Matt’s heart thuds with the duel intensity of an already-existing regret and a heady recklessness and he smiles into a new kiss, growling, bringing his hand between Alex’s legs, getting so hard when she has to close her eyes at the contact.  Oh, she has been on his mind. Ms. Kingston was the ultimate teaching temptation and taboo and he _knows_ her, has seen her biting her lip and with tears in her eyes, knows and envies how she attacks her scripts and laughs her low laugh.  Part of him just had to have felt her pull there on the dance floor.  It was surely his fault.  He breathes out.

“I can never grade you again, Alex,” he says slowly. And they both hear the shadow twin of that sentence: ‘I am going to fuck you now, Alex.’

“Want you to grade me… I’ll try ever so hard” she manages to flirt between gasps as Matt’s hand finds its way  past her waistband and finally.. finally…. Shit he is DOING this… pushes across the line into a wet, hot, Alex Kingston.

“Don’t…. he manages… don’t joke Alex…. It’s no joke for me… Stay still for me… I need…”  She nods and throws her head back and begins moving her hips as he fucks her with two fingers, then three, wrist burning, body in front of her hiding her from the crowd “stay still… shh…. Like we’re dancing.”

“We are dancing.  I like you in charge of things that matter to me, Mr. Smith… Favourite. teacher. Ever.”  She punctuates her words with soft bites to his neck but Matt stills just a tiny bit at the reminder and Alex immediately rushes, gasping… “no joke for me… so far from it… don’t worry…” And he’s back again - god he has brilliant hands -  but it’s not just the hands it’s HIM, THEM…  who he is and what he means and it is impossibly hot and she pictures him up at the front of the class, then, pushing back his fringe and hooking his thumbs in his beltloops and his sexy, unselfconscious spins to the blackboard, pivoting on his heels, and the way he looked at her that time and GOD she is really going to come on the dance floor: “Oh.. shit…  don’t stop… don’t stop…  “she’s screaming into his shoulder now, “Don’t STOP!” and he’s pressing his body tight to hers, deep in shadow and she SCREAMS again and now he moves his hand so very slowly, feeling her rippling under his fingers, gently urging out final moans and he whispers needfully into her hair as she grips his wrist: “Taking you home.”


End file.
